


All Through the Night

by aliciameade



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Exhibitionism, Drunk Sex, F/F, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:34:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24119596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciameade/pseuds/aliciameade
Summary: "Takes place in the PP3 world where they share a bed. They’ve been out drinking and clubbing, and when they get home they try to sleep but are way too turned on. It’s probably Chloe’s hand that makes the first move and it doesn’t take long for Beca to follow..." courtesy our friend not_so_average_fangirl.
Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Comments: 10
Kudos: 264
Collections: Bechloe





	All Through the Night

* * *

“‘m tired,” Beca mumbles as she’s the first to lean heavily on—and fall through—the front door of their apartment. She giggles, too, as she half-trips her way into the kitchen.

“I’m horny,” Chloe says, barely a slur in her words. 

“You’re always horny.”

Chloe laughs at Beca turning around to roll her eyes at Chloe with her words.

They had fun tonight; a night out at a club in Brooklyn, one that had a line a block long to get in which they were allowed to skip when they both flirted with the bouncer.

It had been a night of margaritas and dancing, a much-needed stress-reliever after Beca’s week dealing with rampant sexism in her office and Chloe spending several days dealing with animals and the weird things they ate.

They have a night like it every few weeks when their schedules align, a time to blow off steam and forget about the responsibilities for a few hours.

They’re some of Chloe’s favorite nights, Beca with her hair—and guard—down, both of them pleasantly buzzed but not messily drunk, and being more accepting of Chloe’s physical closeness than other days.

Not that she rejects it those days, but on these nights, she doesn’t just welcome it, she seeks it out, even initiates it.

Chloe can still feel where Beca’s hands had wandered around on her lower back while they danced. Can still see the way Beca’s lips curved into a smile that Chloe thought was unfairly sexy.

Beca’s always unfairly sexy. Unassumingly sexy. Chloe knows she doesn’t think she’s sexy; she knows she doesn’t think she’s unattractive; Beca is at least confident to a certain degree. But she knows owning her sex appeal is something Beca struggles with.

It boggles Chloe’s mind as to why; she’s never met someone as sexy.

Which might be why her confession of horniness spills from her lips so freely when they get home: she is horny. She’s been with Beca, close to her, touching her, being touched by her, all night.

She’s a simple woman: she falls in love with her friend, moves to another state for her, moves in with her, shares a bed with her, touches herself when she thinks about her. Gets turned on when she has a few drinks and gets a little close to her in a bar.

“I am not always horny,” she defends, weakly, as she watches Beca struggle to get undressed.

It’s kind of perfect how the light from the street comes in through the one window in the apartment to land on Beca like a spotlight in the otherwise dark apartment. She steps out of her heels and sheds her jacket, letting it drop where she’s standing. Her shirt goes next followed by her skirt and she must deem that a sufficient removal of clothing because she stops shedding clothes and crawls into bed wearing a black lace lingerie set that Chloe is kind of surprised to see Beca wearing for a girls’ night out.

Beca makes it to her side of their quaint pull-out bed and collapses into her spot. “Tell that to your vibrator.”

Chloe feels the back of her neck heat up with rare embarrassment. “What do you mean?”

“I know it’s not your phone you’re charging in the drawer of your nightstand,” Beca says with a wave of her hand in the general direction of Chloe’s bedside table.

Chloe’s laptop rests on it, plugged in to keep it charged. A USB cable dangles from it and disappears into the bottom drawer where it is, indeed, charging her favorite vibrator.

She straightens her shoulders and keeps her head held high. “I’m not ashamed of that.”

“Didn’t say you should be,” Beca says with a bit of a smirk. “It must be a good one; you’re always charging it. Or does it have a shitty battery?”

“It...doesn’t have a shitty battery,” Chloe says. Other parts of her are starting to heat up more than they already were. Talking to Beca about her sex toy is walking a very fine line for her.

She tries to change the topic by getting undressed herself, trying in vain to make excuses as to why Beca’s just staring at her while she strips down in the neutral zone between the kitchen table and their bed. She drops her skirt to the floor with everything else before climbing into bed and under the covers.

Beca continues to stare at her for an unnaturally long time until she yawns and turns onto her side to start working her way under the covers, too, a clumsy locomotion of huffing and puffing with limbs that don’t quite want to do what she asks of them until she’s finally under them and still.

Chloe settles on her side, too, closer to Beca than she usually begins the night. They always end up physically touching by morning, usually a hand on an arm or back. Sometimes it’s more intimate when Beca lets Chloe scoot close to fit herself against her frame, arm around her waist to hold her close. It’s usually done with the excuse that someone had a bad day, and it’s never shrugged off.

Chloe scoots close tonight, too. There was no bad day; a bad week, yes, but it had been a good day. Tonight, she just wants to maintain the closeness she’s had with Beca all evening and she lets her eyes fall closed to savor how it feels to have so much of her skin touching Beca’s.

  
She can’t imagine any world, any other friend, with whom she would do this. She would never get into bed, under the covers, in her underwear with another friend, also in their underwear, just to cuddle.

If she were to do that, it would be for one reason and one reason only.

The thought slips through her mind; she doesn’t want it to. She tries so hard to not think about having sex with Beca when Beca is present, let alone in the bed next to her. She fails often, but she always tries to stop it.

She loses the battle quickly tonight. She is, as she declared, horny. She’s been horny for hours. Her underwear has been wet since their second margarita.

Beca is so warm against her and smells so good, smells just like she always does after a night out. Like shampoo and perfume and sweat which Chloe thinks maybe she shouldn’t like as much as she does. But all it does is make her think about is that it’s how she would smell after Chloe made her come with her face buried between her thighs.

Her traitorous, alcohol-loosened body betrays her and the thought makes her hips shift in search of friction, makes her arm tighten around Beca’s waist.

Beca doesn’t seem to notice; her reaction is little more than a sniff and an adjustment of how her head fits on the pillow. She doesn’t seem to notice that Chloe’s thoughts literally have her struggling to refrain from grinding herself into Beca’s ass.

Chloe hates herself.

She hates that she can’t let Beca go, that she can’t get her out of her mind. Not just sexually but every way; she wants to make Beca breakfast in bed on her birthday as much as she wants to make her moan her name.

Her hips twitch again and this time, Beca sighs.

It’s probably just a coincidence, or maybe irritation that Chloe keeps disturbing her.

She tries to keep still, closing her eyes to will herself to fall asleep and releases her tight hold on Beca’s waist with the hope that it will cut the tension building inside her.

She wiggles backward an inch or two, too, to let some air between their warm bodies, though she keeps her chest in contact with Beca’s back. That’s too delicious to forego. She elects to relocate her hand to rest on Beca’s hip instead and maybe not-so-accidentally drags it across her stomach to get there rather than picking it up and placing it there.

Beca sighs again, and shifts, too. It’s more obvious now that her hand is on Beca’s hip. Her own hips move again, the motion reconnecting them for the briefest of seconds and she feels Beca’s move, too, almost like an echo.

It makes her already quick pulse pick up its pace. It makes her lazily curve her fingers to let her fingertips graze idle patterns over Beca’s hip rather than resting heavily against it.

She hears Beca again, a quiet but sharp breath in the dark, and Chloe wonders what’s happening. She adjusts herself, wiggling her arm further under the pillow they’re sharing to be more comfortable on it and her hand collides with Beca’s under it. She half-expects Beca to withdraw her hand to give Chloe the territory but instead, Beca’s hand closes around Chloe’s to keep it there.

Everything stops for what feels like eternity and Chloe holds her breath.

Eventually, Beca’s grip eases and her hand shifts to turn palm-up to let Chloe’s fingers slot between hers beneath the pillow.

Her free hand, the one at Beca’s hip, feels a bit like it’s on autopilot. Beca isn’t shunning the way her fingertips draw lines and curves over her hip, up to her waist, over her stomach, down the outside edge of her thigh, to her knee.

Her fingers slow there, tracing her kneecap, half-contemplating, half-driven by adrenaline and ever-increasing lust. She slows her looping pattern until her fingers rest along the seam created by Beca’s thighs. She’s only an inch or two above her knee but Chloe’s heart is pounding like she’s in the middle of wild, unbridled sex.

Beca’s grip on her hand is tight and Chloe finally notices how quickly Beca is breathing.

The possibility that Beca is turned on right now, too, hadn’t even entered her thoughts until that moment and an excited type of panic floods her veins.

She squeezes Beca’s hand and Beca squeezes it back in acknowledgment and Chloe takes that as permission to continue, to go further. She lets her fingers drift higher, in disbelief that she’s touching the soft, warm skin of Beca’s inner left thigh.

In the dark and out of sight, she misjudges how long (or not long) Beca’s thigh is and there’s black lace beneath her fingers sooner than she expected it.

Beca gasps and Chloe immediately removes her hand; she hadn’t meant for it to happen that fast. She’d meant to stop and check in with Beca again, to give them both another chance to consider what was maybe about to happen.

“Don’t,” Beca exhales and Chloe’s about to apologize when Beca’s other hand finds Chloe’s wandering one. “Don’t stop,” she whispers and pulls Chloe’s hand back down.

Chloe’s brain feels like it melts.

Beca shifts next to her and she realizes she’s parting her legs, her left leg straightening and her right hiking up.

“Bec,” she breathes, her entire body pushing forward to be as close to Beca as possible. Her lips find Beca’s shoulder and to kiss it is automatic.

Beca’s hand has stopped guiding her, dropping it low on her stomach, and Chloe realizes this is Beca’s version of one last check-in. She’s said what she wants. It’s up to Chloe now.

Chloe knows what she wants.

She lets her hand slide down, fingertips moving over top the rough black lace.

Her heart threatens to beat out of her chest with every millimeter lower she reaches until she finds and follows the dip in material, fingertips still light, and finds slick lace.

The sound Beca makes is something between a gasp and a whimper and it makes Chloe’s hips push forward, which pushes Beca’s forward right into firm, direct contact with Chloe’s fingers against her swollen clit through the lace.

“Fuck,” Chloe whispers, turning her face into Beca’s neck, her need to kiss her skin impossible to ignore.

Beca’s hips don’t stop after the one domino-effect thrust. They keep moving like a pendulum and Chloe gives in fully.

She flattens her fingers and presses them fully against Beca to learn it’s not just one wet patch on her underwear.

Beca’s completely soaked and that alone nearly makes Chloe orgasm.

“Bec,” she repeats after drawing a line up her neck to her ear with her tongue. “You feel amazing.”

Beca just hums in response and Chloe hears her breathing hard, already panting despite the slow pace of the contact.

She strokes her fingers over the ruined lace, feeling this part of Beca for the first time. Learning new curves. It leaves almost nothing to her imagination; she can picture it without ever having seen her. Her fingernail finds and catches the edge of Beca’s underwear and she tugs on it gently.

“Can I?” she asks before tracing her tongue over the piercings in Beca’s ear, something that makes Beca’s neck twist in what Chloe assumes is a good way. She does it again and she feels Beca nod. “Yeah?” she asks, a nod not quite being enough. She could misread a nod.

“Yeah,” Beca says, quiet voice sounding not quite like herself.

Chloe realizes she’s never heard this Beca voice. One that is aroused. One that is asking for Chloe to touch her.

Chloe holds her breath as she does it; she has to so she can focus on how it feels to slip her fingertips under Beca’s wet, useless underwear to feel her smooth, hot, slick skin for the first time.

That’s when Beca moans the first time.

Chloe’s so turned on it feels like she’s touching herself at the same time. Her fingertips find and brush over Beca’s clit and she releases the breath she’s holding. It’s swollen and protruding and begging for Chloe’s fingers to frame it and start stroking.

“Holy shit,” Beca says through another moan, legs moving to try to open further until she has her left foot planted and her knee up, completely open to Chloe’s touch.

Chloe marvels in it, in the way Beca’s hips roll, again and again, grinding herself against Chloe’s hand with increasing desperation. She lets her fingers slip lower to find her entrance, another curve to discover, and she lets the tip of her middle finger tease the entrance.

“Please,” Beca whines—she _whines_ —and alters the angle of her hips to take Chloe inside when Chloe’s still wondering if it’s okay to do.

It’s Chloe’s turn to moan when she realizes she’s completely inside Beca, the palm of her hand now pressing close to her body. The palm that Beca’s already grinding against.

“Fuck me.”

Chloe thinks she could be imagining it, but Beca repeats it.

“Fuck me, Chlo,” through a moan.

There’s no imagining that. No imagining learning the way her name sounds when Beca moans it.

“I am,” she says, hand immediately picking up and matching Beca’s rhythm. “I am, baby.”

Beca moans again and she wonders if Beca likes the pet name or if she likes Chloe fucking her.

Or both.

“So good,” Chloe murmurs against Beca’s neck that she can’t stop kissing. She knows she’s starting to leave marks on it. “You feel so good.” She sounds like a broken record but it’s the truth. Beca feels amazing. She’s so wet and so soft and Chloe slips a second finger in with the next thrust which makes Beca’s head tip back and her back arch. “Fuck, Beca,” she goes on, drunk in a new kind of way as she stops trying to be quite so graceful and starts fucking Beca more roughly.

She likes it if the way her voice catches in her throat is any indication.

Chloe can hear it, hear what it sounds like for her fingers to sink into Beca again and again, as the heel of her palm comes down against her clit over and over.

It’s wet and lewd and she never thought she would be really fucking Beca, legs open wide and moans spilling from her lips, in the middle of the night in their apartment. Or any time, anywhere. She never could have imagined Beca’s reaction. The way she keeps trying to part her legs wider until she gets so frustrated she rolls onto her back.

It shocks Chloe because it’s the first time they’ve looked at each other since getting in bed and Beca’s staring up at her, lips parted as she moans every time her hips roll into Chloe’s hand, which only speeds up with the extra room she’s given.

There’s no more hiding in any way, no more maybe pretending this wasn’t really happening. Beca’s eyes are on hers and she’s moaning like she’s about to come.

“Kiss me,” suddenly spills from Beca’s lips.

Chloe almost stops to say, “Gladly,” but instead, she does exactly as asked, kissing Beca—for the very first time—hard, instantly finding her tongue with her own.

The change in position forces Beca to let go of Chloe’s hand so Chloe can prop herself on her elbow.

It also frees up both of Beca’s hands and Chloe nearly comes when she feels Beca’s hand pushing under her bra to play with her breast. 

As quickly as it happens it stops and she would complain, but she has nothing to complain about. Even less so when Beca’s hand finds her again, this time by sliding right down the front of Chloe’s underwear until her fingers are rubbing Chloe’s clit.

Chloe just moans into their lurid, sloppy kiss. She was going to come whether anything touched her or not but this is the best possible option.

Beca’s moans are slipping higher and higher in pitch and Chloe focuses, best she can, on keeping her rhythm steady, pounding her fingers into Beca again and again as her own clit starts pulsing.

She tips over the edge before Beca does, falling into her and moaning loud and carelessly as Beca makes her come.

“Oh, my God, yes,” Beca says against their kiss. “That’s so hot, that’s so hot,” she starts chanting until it gives way into a loud moan of her own and her body rocks into uncontrollable bucking and Chloe can’t believe she’s feeling Beca’s body pulsing around her fingers, can’t believe Beca’s are still pressed against her body.

The silence when their release passes is deafening. 

The only sounds are from their heavy, labored breathing and Chloe’s torn between saying something about how good it was or about how long she’s wanted to do that, and instead opts to lift her head and kiss Beca again.

She doesn’t know if she’ll get to ever again once this bubble pops and she wants one long, lazy, shared kiss of contentment to remember it by.

It turns out, Beca’s on the same page. She kisses Chloe back with a slow thoughtfulness that the rush of passion didn’t allow for, and when it draws to its natural end, Chloe shifts off Beca to flop, spent, onto her back.

She hears what sounds like a huff of laughter next to her but Beca doesn’t say anything. She does feel Beca’s hand a few seconds later fumbling for her own and smiles as their fingers entwine where they rest on the bed between them.

* * *

Chloe wakes up to the smell of bacon and the scent of Beca. Her eyes flutter open and a mass of messy dark hair is in her face tickling her nose. She smiles as she takes stock of the situation. Beca’s still in bed with her, heavily asleep according to the pattern of her breathing that Chloe knows so well. Their hands aren’t interlocked anymore and Beca’s turned onto her right side like she usually is, but her foot is reaching back slightly where it hooks over Chloe’s ankle.

That’s something new, a new kind of connection to wake up to, as is the fact that when Chloe moves a bit to stretch her arm which is unbearably sore, she realizes her bare breasts graze Beca’s equally bare back.

It’s a jolt of surprise followed by a jolt of pleasure. She doesn’t remember taking off her bra in the middle of the night, but it’s gone, as is Beca’s. Instead of questioning it, she just presses herself closer to relish the connection.

She’s drifting back to sleep when another type of jolt hits her.

The fact that it smells—and sounds—like frying bacon but both of them are in bed.

She whips her head around, her neck immediately pinching in a way she knows will need a massage to fix, to see Amy leaning against the counter by the stove typing away on her phone.

The motion must get her attention because she looks up.

“Oh, sorry, did you forget I live here, too?”

Chloe’s mind races back through the previous night. Stumbling home drunk, late. Not bothering to turn on the light. Falling into bed. Trying to sleep but somehow spiraling into having really, really hot sex with Beca.

“Were you home last night?” she finally croaks.

“I’m making pancakes, too,” Amy says, and though she’s ignoring the question, the lack of an answer is just as telling. “Thought you two might have worked up an appetite.”

“Oh, my God,” Chloe groans, genuine embarrassment hitting her.

She feels Beca stir next to her at the sound and she braces herself for whatever happens next.

“Hi,” comes Beca’s sleepy voice and Chloe just closes her eyes tightly to wait for it, whatever “it” is. “Hey, what’s wrong?” comes next and she feels Beca start to turn over until she feels fingers grazing across her brow. “Are you sick?”

“If she is, I have the hangover cure right here.” Amy’s voice rings loudly and it’s followed by the clang of glass on glass and Chloe knows she’s mixing a screwdriver. 

“Amy?!”

Chloe feels Beca recoil, a desperate grabbing at blankets to cover herself.

“Morning, Shawshank. Sleep well?”

“Oh, my God, did you sleep here last night?”

“I can’t believe both you twig bitches were too horny for each other to even remember I’m the third illegal roommate in this illegal sublet!”

Chloe just covers her face with her hands. This isn’t how she wanted the morning after to go.

“I didn’t really get much sleep, though,” she continues and Chloe hears the metallic clangs and scrapes of more breakfast preparation. “You two couldn’t be more subtle if you tried. We’re going to have to lay some ground rules from now on. I already started drawing up a sex schedule—”

“A sex schedule?” she and Beca repeat simultaneously and she finally drops her hands to look up at Beca whose face is as red as her own feels (and probably is).

“Yeah, a sex schedule. I don’t care if you two are boning but it’s not going to happen again while I’m home.”

“Oh, my God,” Beca repeats and Chloe gets it; there really isn’t anything more appropriate for the realization that their roommate and long-time friend was there, a few feet away, as they had what turned into very, very not subtle or quiet sex. It was like, pornographic-level sex by the end of it.

“I didn’t get up and air out this sex den at 6:00 am and make breakfast to congratulate you on the sex for you to sit there and stare at me. Come eat. Or did you do that already?” she adds, a tone of wonder in her voice. “No, no it was definitely mutual manual stimulation.”

Chloe can’t help but laugh at that.

There’s nothing else to do but laugh.

“This isn’t funny!” Beca yells with a sharp shove to her arm.

Chloe just shrugs and looks at her, laughing until she sees a smile start to tug at Beca’s lips until she bursts out laughing, too.

“Amy, I am so sorry,” Beca finally manages and Chloe watches her glance around the tiny apartment as if surveying whatever damage happened. Then she crawls over Chloe on what seem to be tired arms and legs until she’s slipping out of bed to quickly grab a shirt and pair of shorts to pull on. “You’re never here overnight; I didn’t even think to check.”

Chloe sits up to watch, still blushing but now filled with amusement, as Beca drags her feet to the kitchen sink where she washes her hands.

It’s a sight that translates the necessity of it right back into her memories and how Beca’s fingers felt between her legs. She swallows hard and instead works on finding her own morning pajamas.

Amy makes a sound of dismissal. “You aren’t the first two horny kids to stumble home drunk and forget they had a roommate.”

Whatever she’s referencing makes Beca groan. “Do _not_ remind me.”

Chloe finally gets herself out of bed and to the same sink, nudging Beca out of the way with her hip since she’s leaning there to talk to Amy.

Again she has to tamp down the memories; the evidence of just how aroused Beca was and how hard Chloe had taken her is plainly visible and she hurries to wash it away, not wanting Amy to see that, too.

She listens to Beca and Amy’s banter, most of it teasing Beca about finally getting laid. It’s all a relief, all things considered. Beca didn’t wake up and freak out or act like she was too drunk to remember, or indicate that she regretted it. To the contrary, she smiles at Chloe now and then as Chloe gathers and sorts their discarded clothing from last night and then digs her phone out of her purse. It’s only at 12%; she’d been too distracted to plug it in last night.

“Why are there 231 texts in the Bellas group chat?” she asks warily as she shows the screen of her phone to Beca as she takes her usual seat next to her at the table. “And I have six missed calls from Aubrey. And two from Stacie.”

Amy suddenly refuses to make eye contact with her and whistles a random tune while she busies herself with pancake batter.

“Ames…” Beca says, voice laced with a warning, as she takes Chloe’s phone and unlocks it with her passcode.

Chloe holds her breath but she already knows.

“You couldn’t give us like, a day to figure it out?” Beca says with a sigh as she returns Chloe’s phone.

As expected, the chat is flooded with reactions to, she can assume based on context clues, Amy’s announcement that she and Beca had hooked up last night. A quick scroll informs her it wasn’t just an announcement but a detailed account of the events from start to finish that reads not unlike a piece of erotica.

“Really, Amy?” Chloe says, though nothing Amy does surprises her anymore. “You could have left out 99% of those details and got your point across.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Amy says as she turns to the table with two pancakes on a spatula. “A short stack for Short Stack,” she says as she drops them onto Beca’s plate. 

She just sighs; there’s nothing else she can do anyway. Everything that’s done is done. But, she realizes as Beca’s foot pokes hers under the table to make her meet her eyes and see she’s being smiled at, nothing is really in a bad place.

Other than Amy sharing their private affair with their friends, who, based on her glance, all seemed enthusiastic about the turn of events, everything is...good.

Beca’s foot rests atop hers under the table, another new kind of physical connection. Beca’s smiling at her as she inhales her breakfast. Beca’s not mad at Chloe for touching her in so many new places.

“Ames, I know we have to work out our schedule,” Beca says as soon as the two pancakes are gone and as Chloe finally gets to start on her own, “but could we maybe have like, two hours this morning?”

  
“Two hours?” Amy says with a whistle. “You need that long when you’re sober?”

“I don’t need that long, but I want that long.”

Chloe almost chokes on her breakfast.

“Oh, my God, so we can talk!” Beca clarifies.

It makes Amy burst out laughing. “Yeah, okay, I’ll give you lovebirds two hours. After I get my brekkie, on, too.”

Things feel normal, then. The three of them having breakfast together, talking about their week since they don’t see Amy that often. All of it feels normal except how Beca’s hand reaches over to rest on Chloe’s knee while they chat.

* * *

“Two hours,” Amy says as she makes a show of setting an alarm on her phone. “Keep the windows open. And stay away from my side of the room.”

“We’re just going to talk,” Beca says as she rolls her eyes and follows Amy to the door, shoving her out playfully. She bolts and chains the door behind her, something that usually doesn’t make Chloe’s heart race but does now.

Chloe sets down the dishtowel she was using to clean up and turns, ready to talk.

“We’ll talk later,” Beca says as she rushes up to her, pressing her against the counter as she captures Chloe’s lips in every sense of the word.

Chloe had fully expected to talk but her body had wanted this instead; she’s so, so happy Beca wanted it, too.

“I want to do this sober,” Beca says against her lips before her kisses move to Chloe’s neck, hands grabbing Chloe’s to pull her toward their bed.

“Me, too,” she manages, already breathless and gasping as Beca literally pushes her onto the bed.

She watches, dumbstruck, as in the bright light of the fluorescent kitchen light and summer morning sun Beca pulls Chloe’s shorts—and underwear—down. She watches, not quite sure it’s the best dream ever, as Beca pushes her shirt up to kiss her stomach on her way down until she’s putting Chloe’s legs over her shoulders.

“Two hours?” Beca says, lips against her inner thigh. It sounds like a challenge. Maybe a dare.

Chloe just reaches for her and threads her fingers through her hair, nods, and watches Beca, without any hesitation, lean down to lick through her.

Her head rolls to the side as she moans and the last thing she sees before her eyes close is the cable from her laptop into the drawer, and she smiles at the thought that she’s not going to be needing _that_ any time soon.

Though, maybe… sometime in the next two hours...

_**The End** _


End file.
